


Space Oddities

by sonofabiscuit77



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Established Relationship, IN SPACE!, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Sibling Incest, Smuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabiscuit77/pseuds/sonofabiscuit77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam was eighteen he rebelled against the Winchester family business of space smuggling to join the Academy. Every once in a while, he and Dean meet up again for angsting, mutual yearning and sex. <br/>Written for 2014 spring fling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space Oddities

“Oh, Dean, you’re so predictable,” said Stephen.

Dean met the droid’s gaze in the mirror and made a face at him. “At least I’m real, metal-man.”

“Some day, you’re going to have to come up with a better comeback. That one's as stale as you smell."

Dean rolled his eyes and tapped his razor against the side of the sink. It was just his luck to get stuck with a supposedly top-of-the-range, super-intelligent servant droid that was permanently set to snark mode. They should’ve altered his personality spec years ago. Maybe that was something to consider on his next trip to the Outer Rims. He slid the razor over his throat and winced when the blade snicked his jaw.

Stephen sighed wearily. “Hand me that. You’ll cut your throat and I’ll be stuck with the clean-up.” He took the razor from Dean’s hand.

"You’ll be sorry when you end up working for a slaver. You’ll weep every night when you remember what an amazing Master I was,” Dean said.

Stop talking,” Stephen said.

Dean obeyed, reluctantly admitting that Stephen was making a much better job of shaving him than Dean had been.

“There. All done. Smooth as a baby’s ass," Stephen said when he had finished.

“Hey there, Handsome,” Dean greeted himself, checking out the new him in the mirror. Stephen snorted, but Dean ignored him, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at his reflection. It felt good to be clean-shaven. He looked like an actual human-being again, and not like a crazy outer-systemer who’d spent far too long in the Outer Rims. Still, after six long months and several hair-raising encounters with the bullish Republican Authorities, the job was complete. There was a generous pile of contraband sitting in the hold, authentic Republican credits on his Navran Visa, and they were only hours from the planet itself. Things were looking up.

The cockpit communications link buzzed, and Stephen bustled away to answer it. Dean finished patting his face dry and followed. Stephen was giving the landing code to the Navran customs agent when Dean climbed into the pilot’s chair.

“We all good?”

“Of course. Approximate docking in T minus 56 minutes,” Stephen said, giving Dean a rather judgmental once-over. “Not sure if that’s long enough for you to clean yourself up.”

Dean gave him the finger as he climbed out of his chair. He’d been saving _Impala's_ water rations for days. Now was the time to make use of them.

 

**

The streets of Navran City were just as Dean remembered, the gleaming spires of the Academy dominating the skyline when he and Stephen finally made it through the customs checks and into the downtown district.

“Shall I come by tomorrow?” Stephen said, making a note on the keypad embedded in the arm of his leather jumpsuit.

“Yeah, not too early.”

Stephen raised his head and gave him a knowing look. "Right, of course."

Dean smirked, and Stephen shook his head as he stepped away from Dean to join the crowd. Dean popped the collar of his leather jacket, slid on his shades against the crystallised glare of Navran’s three suns, and turned in the direction of the seedier part of town.

 _Ellen’s_ was as comforting and familiar as a warm shower, and Dean breathed in the scents of alcohol, oil and smoke as he pushed through the crowd to get to the bar. Ellen spotted him from her place pouring drinks behind the bar, and waved her hand in greeting, a smile almost flickering at the edge of her usually stern mouth. She sidled out from behind the bar and paused in front of him, dropping her hands to his arms and pulling him into an unforgiving hug.

“Dean Winchester! Well, it’s about freaking time.”

“Good to see you too, Ellen. How are things?”

She shrugged. “Can't complain. You?”

“Just finished a job.”

“I figured. You want a drink?”

He gave her a look, and she cackled, signalling to one of the droids.

"Well, I got customers, kid. You alright on your own?"

"I'll manage," he said, accepting the brimming goblet of Ambrosia from the serving droid. He took a long swig, savouring the taste and smacking his lips. It really was good to be back in civilisation again.

He was on his second goblet when he felt the hand on his shoulder. It was big and warm and intimately familiar. He was smiling before he even turned his head.  
  
“Sammy,” he said.

“It’s Sam,” Sam said, but he was smiling too, and he wasn’t removing his hand, just sliding it around to cup the back of Dean’s neck, letting it rest there as he took the stool next to Dean.

Dean put his hand on his brother’s chest, just enjoying the solid warmth of him under his palm, just feeling him there, right there. God, he’d missed this.  
  
“Want to get out of here?” Sam said.

“Hell, yeah,” Dean said.

Sam laughed and squeezed the back of Dean's neck. “Come on.”

They didn’t have to go far. Sam’s apartment was a block from the bar. Dean waited to be scanned outside Sam's complex as Sam pressed his thumb to the elevator’s print reader, and then they were ascending, flying higher and higher, up to Sam's sixtieth floor apartment.

Sam pushed him into his bedroom and thumped the door closed, leaning against it to stare his full, his gaze greedy as it roamed over Dean. His cheeks were flushed, his hair dishevelled, his academy uniform rumpled, but he was the best damn thing Dean had seen in a long, long while.

"God, you look good," Dean breathed.

"You too," Sam said. He launched himself at Dean and threw him to the bed.

The first time was quick, no talking, just the two of them removing the minimum necessary clothing. Dean rolled his brother onto his back and dragged his uniform pants down to hang off one ankle. He pushed Sam’s thighs apart and slid spit-slick fingers inside, watching Sam’s eyes go dark and the flush spread over his chest and throat. He lined up his cock, groaning out loud as he sank deep into Sam, and knowing that for this first time at least, he wouldn’t last long.

The second time was languorous and easy, the desperation fading from Sam’s eyes as he positioned himself over Dean and slid down onto his cock. This was always Sam’s favourite position, and he took his sweet time, rocking on Dean’s dick and holding Dean’s hands, keeping their gazes locked.

"You..." Sam whispered, and he squeezed Dean’s hand, threading their fingers as the muscles of his ass clamped hard around Dean’s cock. "You don't know, Dean..."

"What don't I know, Sammy?"  
  
"Just. This..." Sam said, "This…”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said, because there wasn’t anything else to say.

They took a break after the third time. They lay on Sam's bed and watched the suns go down through the narrow window, painting the room in red, orange and yellow light. Sam's hand was on Dean’s chest, fingers stroking the place where his heart was beating a lazy, sated rhythm.

"Dean?"

"Mmm?" He rolled his head on the pillow to meet Sam’s gaze.

"Don't take a long job again."

"Sam..."

"No. Just think about it, okay? Go with someone else, not Crowley. I know he pays the most but there are plenty of other merchants who’d hire you and give you a job closer to home."

"This city ain't my home," Dean said.

"I'm not talking about this city," Sam said.

Dean looked at his brother for what felt like a long time. "You know there's a solution to all this. There always has been."

"No," Sam said, “please don't ask me. You know I can't. I made the pledge."

Dean sighed and gritted his teeth. Oh, he knew alright. Sam had pledged himself to the Academy when he was eighteen years old. It was his rebellion against Dad, against their family, against the life they led. It was his opportunity to get out and become someone different, to do something he really wanted. He made it damn clear throughout his teenage years that smuggling – the Winchester family business for as long as Dean could remember – wasn’t what he wanted. Dean understood that, and he’d even forgiven Sam for walking out on them. Didn't mean he had to like it.

Sam's term with the Academy expired two years ago, and in the months running up to Sam’s cessation, Dean had thought of nothing else except having Sam back again, back in _Impala’s_ co-pilot seat where he belonged. On the day of Sam’s release, he got to _Ellen’s_ early, brimming with nerves and excitement as he waited for Sam to arrive. But when Sam finally showed, two hours late, he was still wearing his uniform, and Dean knew immediately, before Sam could even open his mouth that the one thing he'd wanted for so long wasn't happening. Sam wasn't coming with him; he'd pledged himself to the Academy for another five years. Once again, he'd chosen the Academy over Dean.

Dean was so angry he ran from Sam without a word, stumbling to the nearest bar where he drank his bodyweight in Ambrosia. Incoherent and uncaring, he ended up in the city’s most notorious gambling den, run by Ichabod Crowley, the city’s most notorious merchant. Still reeling from Sam’s betrayal and desperate not to return to his lonely ship where his only friend, a servant droid who was programmed to like him, was eagerly awaiting Sam’s return, he made the worst decision of his life: he staked everything he possessed, including his ship and his droid, on one turn of the die.

He lost.

Crowley agreed to a repayment schedule. If Dean completed a series of dangerous, dead-end jobs for him then he would be able to keep _Impala_ and Stephen. If Dean failed or refused those jobs then both his droid and his ship would be forfeit.

He was too ashamed to tell Sam. _Impala_ was their home, it was where they'd been raised, and Stephen had raised them both. Sam would never forgive him if Dean lost them.

He turned his head to meet Sam’s gaze. "Well then, I guess that means we gotta make the most of the time we got."

 

**

True to his word, it was night again by the time Stephen got to Sam's apartment. Dean hung back as he watched Sam hug Stephen, the droid's face lighting up with pleasure when he saw Sam. He'd always liked Sam best.

"I got a message from Crowley," he told Dean when Sam was in the bathroom. "We got to ship out tomorrow. A new job in the Atticus system."

Dean’s heart plummeted. Atticus was one month’s journey from Navran. A month to get there, however many months for the job, then a month to get back again.

“You should tell him the truth, Dean,” Stephen said, resting his hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean sucked in a breath. "No, I can't do that."

Stephen sighed, "You boys and your secrets. If your father were here, he'd beat some sense into you."

"Don't talk about Dad," Dean said quietly.

Stephen said nothing, but his silence was condemnatory enough. Dean shook the hand off. "You unload all the contraband yet?"

"Almost," the droid replied.

"Well, we only got tonight. Don't you think you should get on that?" He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

"Fine. Whatever you say, Master."

Dean ignored the sarcasm as he closed the front door behind Stephen and made his way to Sam's bedroom.

Sam was standing over his dresser, a towel knotted around his waist and water droplets rolling down his back and shoulders. He looked up as Dean came in.

"Did he go? That was quick."

"He has some contraband to unload," Dean said. He paused, staring at his brother, taking this time to drink him in.

Sam's eyes narrowed, half-worried and half-suspicious. "What, Dean?"

He swallowed, said finally, "Don't bother getting dressed." He moved to crowd up behind Sam. He pressed a kiss to his bare, damp shoulder, rolled his forehead against his bicep, breathing him in, the clean fresh smell of him. "I gotta go tomorrow. I got a new job. So tonight, let's stay in, Sammy."

Sam was silent for what felt like a long time, just breathing in and out. Eventually he spoke, voice quiet in the silent room. "Okay."

 

 

**

 

Sam lay with his head on Dean's chest, his hair spilling over Dean's chin and mouth. Dean ran his hand down his brother's arm, petting him thoughtlessly, just like they used to do when they were young, sharing the narrow bunk in their tiny sleeping quarters. Stephen used their old room to store supplies now, and Dean used Dad's old room, not wanting to sleep in the room he used to share with his brother. Anyway, he was _Impala's_ captain and pilot now, he deserved the captain's quarters.

Sam raised his head and blinked at Dean. "I've been thinking," he said.

"Have you?" He rested his hand on Sam's elbow, forefinger ghosting over the crease where Sam's skin was damp and sweaty.

"When my term is up, I'm not going to pledge again," he said.

Dean took in the words slowly, not quite comprehending what he was hearing.

"But you said..."

"I know what I said. And I have to fulfil this term, I made the pledge. But after that." He frowned, that crease appearing between his eyebrows that reminded Dean of when he was a kid, frowning over some tricky bit of mathematics. "It's my life right now, Dean, but it's not everything. There are other things." He met Dean's gaze steadily, his expression softening. "I can't go on like this, just seeing you for a few days after months and months, not hearing from you, not even knowing if you're going to make it back in one piece. If something happened to you..." He broke off and pressed his lips together, his mouth getting that stubborn shape to it that Dean knew so well. "So, yeah, you win, Dean. When my time's up, I'll come with you."

Dean swallowed, staring and not quite daring to believe what Sam was telling him. "You won't regret it. I promise."

"I hope so."

"And it'll be good; I'll make it good for you, Sammy."

"I know you will. But remember, we still got three years until I can leave."

"I know," Dean said, but he was smiling again. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. Crowley and his shit didn't matter, not if he had Sam. "It'll be just us. You and me."

"And Stephen," Sam said.

Dean snorted. "Right, yeah, he'll be happy. He misses you. Three years, man, we can do that."

"Of course we can," Sam said, and he smiled again.

**

THE END


End file.
